Snarklings Brave the Snarkometer 45 times
It couldn't be happening again.
Liv Olney gripped the edge of the desk and leaned forward to watch the jumpy video footage. The smoke cleared in front of the Amadanian school in Central Africa, revealing a car still in flames in the street. Soldiers poured through the opening in the school's courtyard wall, guns at the ready across their chests.
Guns, soldiers, children. A blood-chilling combination.
She pinched her nose against the remembered scent of smoke, of blood, closed her eyes against the brilliance of the flames. Her breath came faster as memories tumbled through the wall she'd so carefully constructed.
Spitting gunfire, almost innocuous sounding pops. Smoke filling the hospital, feet running past her -- friend or foe? -- as she slipped an oxygen mask over her patient. A hand wrapping around her ponytail, jerking her back and she stared into hateful black eyes.
And now her best friend was teaching in that school, subjected to that horror. She opened her eyes and unclenched her fists, looking around to see if anyone noticed her rapid breathing, her flushed face. She couldn't let anyone see her weakness, or they would remove her from this situation, and she couldn't allow that.
Jill, who had been there for her when she'd returned from her own nightmare, needed her.
Behind her in the darkened war room in the bowels of the Pentagon, she heard the murmur of voices, low and urgent, discussing the demands that had arrived with the videotape: Remove the peacekeeping troops from the ports where they were working to reduce arms-smuggling, or the hostages would start dying.
Line the pockets of the madman Wamukota or people would die.
As a matter of policy, I don't handle any books dealing with terrorism or terrorists. It's not a principal, I don't think those books are bad or evil or should be banned. I just choose not to deal with them.
In the months and years after 9/11every person, not only here in NYC, but everywhere had to figure out how to deal with the new world. Some people deal with it by writing books wherein the terrorists die, the good guys prevail and a sense of justice is restored. Nothing wrong with that at all
I can't do that however. I'm still taken aback by the sight of military men carrying automatic weapons in the subways despite the fact I see them often. I'm still unnerved by the signs that large packs, bags and purses are subject to search on the trains. I can't look at old movies that show the WTC without crying even though I feel stupid.
I deal with that by not reading this type of work. Not for the agency, not in other books.
As writers, that can't deter you from writing what you need to write. You're dealing with things in your way. You'll get some rejections from people who are dealing with things as I am, but there will be others who can look at your work objectively. You'll just have to work a little harder to find them.